


Stumbling in Fog

by GoblinCatKC



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Horror, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinCatKC/pseuds/GoblinCatKC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonardo wakes up in the back of a crashed van. As he searches for Michelangelo, he fears that the town is not entirely deserted. Then he hears the siren's wail...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of this, neither characters nor setting.  
> Warnings: blood, gore, violence, possible disturbing imagery  
> Setting: Silent Hill--Lakeside Amusement Park and Toluca Lake

He woke to the smell of burning fuel and melted plastic. Blinking rapidly, Leonardo sat up and winced as his head throbbed.

He couldn't move his hands. They were caught behind his back. He twisted his wrists and felt something taut and stiff, metal probably. Whatever it was, he couldn't snap it.

He was in a van. The back doors were wide open and a human lay half in, half out, grey skinned in a puddle of coagulating blood.

His belt was gone. He was surprised that he noticed its loss before realizing that his mask had also been stripped from him. No swords, no way to call for help, not even the familiar touch of cloth on his face. He glanced around the broken electronics of the van, but the only thing beside him were metal cuffs snapped in two, the same kind binding his wrists.

The van wasn't burning badly. Fuel had spilled around the tires but the flames on the hood were tiny. The van's front end had wrapped around a streetlamp, and the men in the front seat were dead, smashed into the windshield.

How had he gotten here? Captured? He couldn't remember anything. Wait---he frowned. He did remember. Vague whispers came to him, his brother struggling beside him, sarcastic quips that got him a kick to the face.

Michelangelo--he had to find Michelangelo. There was no trace of him here.

Edging to the door, he eased out past the body. As he put his whole weight on his feet, he felt his right leg tremble and buckle. His knee twisted in agony, and his ankle refused to straighten. Broken or badly sprained, he thought. His headache pounded, making him sick to his stomach, and he paused to catch his breath.

He leaned on the door and looked around. Where had they taken him? This wasn't New York. Fog hid the streets, but what he could see was gray and run down, abandoned to crumble and decay. Was anyone else here?

The tire tracks disappeared back down the street, deep black marks from the van's braking that led somewhere out of sight. If the van's doors had opened as they drove, then perhaps Michelangelo had fallen out. Or maybe he'd gone to look for a way to cut themselves free.

Leonardo decided to brave following the tracks to make sure his brother wasn't lying hurt on the road, and then come back here when he was sure.

The silence unnerved him. He breathed as softly as he could manage, but a cramp along his side flared and wouldn't let him breathe deep. Limping and off balance, he was grateful that he was alone but at the same time the town didn't feel right. He looked around at the dark windows and the empty store fronts.

Shouldn't vandals have come and left graffiti and smashed glass? Or urban explorers with their directional notes or markers? At least plywood should have covered the largest windows. The town felt as if everyone had walked away.

The tracks stopped after several feet. Leonardo looked over his shoulder. The fog had swallowed the van behind him, and he only had the hint of another street intersecting with this one. He was at a crossroads and it unnerved him that he couldn't see the sidewalks and buildings that should've been obvious.

Should he try going left or right? The tire tracks started in the center where the van had slammed on the brakes, but it could have come from any street.

He looked around again helplessly. No trail, no marks--not even blood, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. Michelangelo could be ten feet away and he wouldn't see him.

As much as he hated to break the stillness, he had to yell. It was the only way he might find him.

"Mikey!" he called out, coughing. "Mikey!"

His yell broke in the middle. He couldn't breathe deep enough to shout far. Internal injuries? He tasted blood on his tongue.

"Mikey!" he yelled again.

His voice didn't travel further than he could see. He squinted, peering into the gray shroud all around him. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed his breath turning white in the air. There were white flecks falling against the fog, snow that melted before it touched the pavement.

How had he not noticed that before? His headache was a concussion, no doubt, and he prayed it wasn't too serious. He had to find his little brother fast.

He decided to go straight for a while and double back if he didn't find anything. If Michelangelo had gone looking for help or shelter, he would come back soon and look for him when he found him missing.

The exertion made his twisted knee and ankle burn, but he'd walked on injuries before. He could go for some distance before the pain and exhaustion wore him down. He stumbled once, and he struggled not to completely topple over. With his hands locked behind his back, he had to fight to keep his balance, especially as he limped.

At the next corner, he staggered to the streetlamp and leaned against it, slipping down to sit on the curb. If it wasn't for the pain, he'd think he was still unconscious. His leg throbbed in time with his headache, and he choked when he tried to drag in a deeper breath.

He tilted his head back against the lamp pole behind him, watching the snow in the gray sky for a moment before closing his eyes. Sitting still for awhile eased the pain and nausea a little.

When he'd caught his breath, he tried calling his brother's name again. His voice faded quickly. If Michelangelo had wandered away in a pain-fueled haze and collapsed, Leonardo would never find him in this fog.

A dozen different scenarios played out in Leonardo's head. Michelangelo could be delirious, he could have been thrown out of the van and killed, or he could be hopelessly lost. He also could have been separated from him earlier, taken in another van, and Leonardo would never see him again.

He shook his head too fast, driving a spike of pain through him, but he imagined that the sharp jolt would clear his thoughts. Michelangelo was somewhere close by. He had to believe that, if only because of those broken cuffs in the van. Michelangelo had broken free. That was probably why the van had crashed. Later on his little brother would find him, Leonardo would scold him for not untying him before he went exploring, Michelangelo would crack a joke and they'd find a way home that didn't involve walking.

His ankle hadn't swollen up too badly yet, but he knew it would. He dreaded putting weight on it again. If only he could get his hands free, he could find something to use for a crutch. When he twisted his hands again, though, blood trickled down his fingers. In the stillness, he heard the blood drip onto the pavement.

He frowned. No, that wasn't blood he heard. It was too solid, like clumps of tar striking the ground.

The sound was faint, small but growing. Something was coming closer. He didn't know why he thought it was a something, not a someone, not a human, not Michelangelo. If his brother was hurt, the sound of skin dragging on the ground might have made sense. Michelangelo could've been hurt, slowly crawling after him, but Leonardo knew it wasn't him. He didn't know how he knew. A sixth sense, the instinct that warned him of danger, perhaps. It didn't move like Michelangelo would have.

Whatever it was, it moved slowly. He curled his good leg under himself and pushed himself up, bracing for the pain. The brief rest made the injuries that much harder to bear.

A flood of adrenaline dulled the pain. There wasn't enough light to throw a shadow, and yet one dark blur crept deliberately towards him. Every broken jerk of its body, hidden in the fog, was clear in the black shape coming closer. Its outline looked like his own shadow, three fingers, a distinct head, the edge of a shell, but the arm had to have been twisted the wrong way to bend at that angle. The shell's shadow was wider on one side, fainter on the other, as if the thing had to tilt itself to move. And as slow as it dragged itself along, the silhouette of its hand moved too fast, twitching like a television skipping frames.

It came close enough that he finally saw a hint of its body in the fog. It crawled like a wounded animal, its skin was decaying gray and and rotted black, and he heard teeth clicking together over and over as if it was shivering. Putrid ichor dripped from the wounds slashed in its hand.

He didn't see the rest. He turned and moved as fast as he could, leaning against the storefronts to ease the burden on his leg. Behind him, the thing audibly sped up, but it could only move at a fast crawl. He glanced over his shoulder once to make sure it hadn't suddenly stood and rushed at him, but the chattering teeth soon faded with distance.

Leonardo didn't slow down. He liked this silent town a lot better without monsters roaming the streets. He needed a place to hide and rest, some place he would be safe. Every time he brushed against a door knob or handle, he put his back to it and grabbed it, yanking hard. Finally he found one that wasn't locked and went in, wincing at the jangle of the bell on the door.

Tools and chainsaws lined the shelves, all of it covered with dust. He listened for the tiniest hint of anything moving, then turned the small latch behind him. He knew he was lucky that these little shops were local and not franchises, or else the store would've been too large to trust that he was alone, but he wished the bottom of the door wasn't made of glass. Or the huge window facing the street.

There was a rag on the counter. He limped to it, carefully took it, then went back to the window. Knowing he was playing hopeless odds, he painstakingly wrote MIKEY in the dust and thick grime, scrawling the name in case Michelangelo chanced to walk close enough to the window to see. When he finished, he was dismayed by how illegible it was. The I and the K ran into each other and the E and Y seemed to melt into one.

Sure that Michelangelo would never spot it, Leonardo set about trying to free himself. Pliers, screwdrivers, sandpaper, cleaners--he didn't think he could cut through the cuffs, so he took a package of thin nails and sat down in the corner beneath the window.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage. He'd put it off long enough. Gritting his teeth, he brought his hands down his shell. This was the hardest and most painful part, trying to slip his locked hands around the hard edge. Humans could at least bend and twist, but the shell wouldn't give easily without breaking first. Metal could snap the brittle shell like a thick fingernail, but if he didn't push against it hard enough, his wrists would sprain or break.

Pretty sure that he'd left a streak of blood down his shell, he sighed in relief when his hands finally cleared the edge and came under his legs. He had to gingerly sweep past his knees and ankles, but at last his hands were in front of him. He was surprised at how little blood actually covered his skin. It looked worse than he knew it was.

He didn't waste time resting. He took the package of nails and tore the corner, spilling them in his palm. He took one between his teeth and turned another awkwardly in his hand. He had to twist his hand at an odd angle to get the second nail point into the cuff's keyhole, and then slowly began twisting them.

He couldn't tell how long he sat there. The clock on the wall didn't move. Picking a lock could take time under the best of circumstances, and he knew this was little more than pretending he could do something. He drowsed, drifting in and out and jerking away every time he nodded off. He was scared to fall asleep.

He'd made no progress on the cuffs when he heard the door rattle in its frame. He stopped and looked up. The room swam around him and the air felt pressurized, as if he was under water. The door rattled again, shaking harder as whatever was outside beat on the glass.

Then nothing. Silence. Leonardo held his breath, wondering if it had given up.

The top half of the door smashed inwards.

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

What came through wasn't human, wasn't even humanoid. A long, slender shaft of steel came through the glass, then drew back and made short work of the door. The wood chipped and cracked and quickly buckled in the middle, and the two pieces bent inwards, hanging from the hinges.

Abandoning his attempt to undo the cuffs, Leonardo raced behind the counter and knelt down.

Something came into the shop. He didn't hear footsteps, only the tapping of steel on the floor. It wasn't the sound of something tapping a knife a few times. It gave him the mental image of something using swords for crutches. Whatever it was, he didn't want to meet it unarmed and bound.

Was the door in front of him locked? He didn't know if he could kick it in before the thing nearby closed the distance and attacked. His leg didn't hurt as much, but if that was from shock or numbness, he didn't know. He didn't think he could outrun whatever it was, either.

The metallic steps came towards the counter. It was going to check here, he was sure of it. There was no way to use the door. He looked around and realized he might not have to. The counter had a cabinet, and its door hung open.

Pushing it wide, he eased inside the cramped space as fast as he could, as quietly as he could. He couldn't close it without a click that would tell the thing where he was, but he could hold it fast by the latch on his side of the door. He told himself that if it attacked through the cheap plywood, the attack would be blind, and he'd have a chance to roll back through the glass behind him and make a break for the door.

The metal tapping came around the counter. Leonardo froze and stopped breathing, listening to it come all the way to the back door. It paused for a moment, not moving at all, and Leonardo hoped it couldn't hear his heartbeat. Why was it hesitating? Couldn't it see he wasn't there? Did it suspect?

Steel smashed through wood again, and for a moment Leonardo thought it had attacked his hiding spot. As the sounds continued and he didn't feel a sword in his chest, he realized it had attacked the door behind the counter. The door fell as easily as the first, and its steps faded into the storeroom.

Should he run while its back was turned? This distraction might be the only chance he got. He worked up his resolve to push open the cabinet and creep out, but he couldn't make himself move. He counted to three, telling himself to run, but when he got to three, he was still frozen in place.

Had this town turned him into a coward? He grew furious at the thought. No, he was injured, concussed and bound--if he demanded too much of himself, he'd only get himself killed.

While he was scolding himself, glass by the front door crunched wetly as something began to drag itself over the shards. Leonardo felt a deep spike of fear, one worse than before. The front of the counter was made of glass. The thing with steel crutches couldn't see him from this side. Whatever was at the front probably could, and it was on the same level he was.

His hand slipped off the latch. As he grabbed it again, the metal steps came rushing back to the storeroom door, moving faster than he would have thought possible. He caught a glimpse of something gray and white and the dull gleam of unpolished steel, and then the flash was out of sight. It careened around the counter and sick noises--like chopped cabbage and painful rasps--followed.

Leonardo slipped out of the cabinet and waited out of sight on the other side. He didn't wait long. The violent attack lasted only a few seconds, and then the metal steps left the store and vanished up the street.

He didn't move for a long time. He didn't think it would come back. He didn't think the thing on the floor was alive to threaten him. He simply couldn't bring himself to move. Only after long minutes of feeling sick did he force himself to his feet.

The storeroom door was in splinters. He carefully stepped around it and limped to the main entrance. The bloody mess made him stop, not because he hadn't expected the sliced corpse but because of what it looked like.

It had to be the same thing he glimpsed in the fog. A mutant turtle, but warped so that its legs were uselessly twisted behind it. Its left arm was similarly contorted at its side, bent as if it had healed after a bad break, leaving it to slowly crawl with its right. Its face was a match for his own, but rotted, grey and now dripping with black ichor. The shell was in shattered pieces. Its limbs looked like cuts of meat.

If there had been anything in Leonardo's stomach, he would have thrown up. Instead he turned his head aside and gingerly crept past it, avoiding the slivers of glass.

Now where? He couldn't even tell which way the other creature had gone. Choosing left simply because going right would have been harder on his leg, he made his way down the sidewalk, leaning against the storefronts as he went.

Weren't there any kitchen stores? He would've taken a knife over nothing at all. Watch repair? He could have used the tiny tools as lock picks. Even a gun shop would be welcome. Instead he only passed small cafes and boarded windows. Was this some kind of tourist town?

Why had the humans brought him here?

He wanted to stop walking, but he didn't dare. Nothing was open and he couldn't trust anything that could be broken into. Walking brought him to a main road, and he followed it for a couple of blocks. When it veered into a park, he followed it.

The lake he found vanished into the fog, but from the sound of the wind and waves and the feel of the open air, he guessed that it extended much farther out. He leaned on the railing and listened to the water, sick to his heart that he didn't know where his brother was. Should he have stayed in the van? He imagined the steel creature finding him there and quailed at the thought.

He turned and looked at the faint outlines of the park around him. A couple of statues, a gazebo...he laughed at himself. He could finally walk around in the human world but he wished he was back under New York again. Then again, this wasn't the human world.

Scratching claws whispered at the back of his mind. He stood straight and listened. The scratching came closer, not the steel tapping of before but animal claws scraping the pavement. On top of it came screeching shrieks, the kind made by wounded animals or--

Rats. An army of rats, a plague of them, coming out of the fog. He backed against the railing. There were so many of them--there was no way he could slide past them, even if he could walk straight. They were as big as cats, and their claws and teeth looked like little knives. Their red eyes focused only on him.

The harsh scrape of steel on cement drowned out the rats. Leonardo looked past them at the tall figure in their midst. At least three feet taller, it walked unsteadily and dragged a sword--no, Leonardo thought, a butcher's knife--that had to be as long as he was. It looked too heavy to lift, but it hauled it up over its shoulder, and that was when he finally saw its head.

How did he miss it at first? Its strange helmet must have left it blind. How could it walk while wearing it? But it came straight towards him, its knife high, its rats moving in for the kill. It was living death, and Leonardo felt like a target, like he was the only person in the town that this thing could see. Not just any death, but his death.

The railing was low. He stepped over it, wobbling unsteadily on his bad leg. It gained him a few inches, but the water lapped just beneath him. With his hands tied and one leg gone numb, he didn't think he could hold his head above water long enough to reach the other side. But he knew he wouldn't last a moment against the thing that could now reach him with its knife. Its leather skirt was stained with blood and age, and as it loomed closer, it silhouette blocked out the scant light.

It was then that Leonardo heard, above the noise of the rats and death's heavy footfalls, the wail of an air raid siren. He'd heard one before in an old war documentary, and the sound through the decades had made him uneasy. Now he heard it scream around him like a banshee howling mad in all directions, as if the town had declared war on him.

He felt faint. His head swam. He lost his balance and fell backwards, hardly noticing the knife as it swung past his face or the rats plunging into the lake after him. He blacked out before he hit the water.

When he woke up again, he was dry and alone on a boardwalk. He sat up too quickly, sure that the thing with its rats was nearby. He still heard the lake, but as his head throbbed from moving too fast, he saw that he was alone. Just visible in the fog, he made out the shape of a ferris wheel and, closer, the entrance gates of what the sign called Lakeside Amusement Park.

Sleep didn't make him feel better. He painfully turned on his side, pushing himself back up, and looked around. How did he get here? Did someone bring him? Maybe he swam and couldn't remember? He didn't think so.

As he passed under the sign, the park blurred and began to darken. Behind him came a noise like paper crumpling and burning, and as he turned, he found blackish red veins on the colorful floor tiles, creeping across the walls like vines. He backed away from them, wondering if they could creep on his skin.

The burning sound spread all around him with the darkness. With nowhere to go, he stopped under a streetlamp that glowed pathetically and leaned against it. The black veins spread under his feet, the lamp turned a rusted red, but the veins didn't crawl across him. The air turned black as coal with only scattered spots of dim light.

"Mikey...where are you?"

They all knew how to move in the darkness. He could avoid anything dangerous as long as he listened and kept quiet. If he was lucky, maybe he would find a flashlight. Or a phone. Or something he could cut the cuffs with.

With a deep breath, he pushed away from the streetlamp and walked further into the amusement park.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

The air was still, but Leonardo heard the faint metallic clink of chain on a wire fence, an unlocked gate swaying. The steel steps of something not human, not animal, clicking along the pavement. Whatever was moving out there wasn't alive, but it was looking for him.

He didn't bother picking up the long pieces of broken pipe or the slats of wood broken off from the rides. He could barely put any weight on his right leg and his hands were slick with his own blood. A fight would only get him killed faster. His only hope was to stay quiet and out of sight.

The silence made it easier. The rasping breath or harsh clanging warned him well in advance that he had to hide. He couldn't climb, but he could crawl through the splintered windows of old ticket booths or into a mouldering roller coaster car. He'd make out the barely visible silhouettes of something clattering by or dragging itself past, waiting until he couldn't hear anything for several minutes before venturing out again.

He sighed in relief when he found the souvenir shops. Faint golden lights illuminated each door, and he limped to the first, found it locked and tried the next.

Open. He turned the knob and felt it grind against the rust, but it moved and the door pushed in. Wary, straining for the slightest sound, he walked in and closed the door. There was no lock but it stayed shut with an audible click.

The shop was completely dark, possibly hiding monsters inside, but he heard nothing and he didn't hear the telltale echoes of an open door or window nearby. He sank down against the wall, coming to rest on the floor, and caught his breath. In a moment he would search the shop, look for something useful and try to get the damn cuffs off, but for now it was enough to rest and--

A light flashed around the room. On reflex, without thinking he moved away from the light as it swept past where he'd just been sitting, and he kept to the floor as he maneuvered away. The narrow beam scanned the floor like a search light, following him at first, then trying to cut him off. Pieces of the shop flashed in front of him--confusing glimpses of bloody plush rabbits, touristy water globes and candy boxes. Each time he second guessed the light just before it touched him, and he finally found a shelf to put his back to, shielded as it passed over him.

The light turned off. Leonardo held his breath. No footsteps, no sound. His own heartbeat made listening harder until he heard the tiny rattle of metal on wood. In this hell of a town, it was the first thing he'd heard that sounded like home.

"Mikey?" he whispered.

The rattle of nunchucks stopped. "Leo?"

This time Leonardo didn't move as the light flashed on again, gently moving over his body.

"How do I know it's you?" Michelangelo demanded, not moving any closer or putting his nunchucks away. "And not another evil clone?"

"What?" Leonardo stared at the shadow shaped like his little brother. "Clones? I've only seen a dead turtle and a metal monster running around. And something with a huge sword and lots of rats."

Michelangelo didn't answer. Leonardo sighed and looked away. Either his little brother was safe and alive and about to kill him, or else this was an evil clone and Leonardo would be dead in a moment anyway.

"Fine, you decide," Leonardo said. "How do I know you're not evil either?"

A moment later, the light whirled and focused on the person holding it, lighting Michelangelo's face as if he was telling scary stories around a campfire. The sight wasn't pleasant. Blood glistened on half of his face and his mask was torn as if something had cut it just above his eye. But Leonardo recognized the worried panic on his little brother's face and relaxed.

"What happened to you?" Leonardo asked. "Was that from the crash?"

A smile slowly twitched over Michelangelo's face, followed by welled up tears. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and sat down beside him, tentative at first, then throwing his arms around him and holding him tight.

"You're alive," Michelangelo whispered. "You're alive."

Leonardo's smile was exhausted, almost not there at all, but he let his head fall on Michelangelo's shoulder. Only now, skin to skin, did he realize how cold he'd been. Michelangelo was hot to the touch.

"Your hands are still locked?" Michelangelo asked. He examined the thick cuffs, careful not to jar Leonardo's wrists.

"I couldn't pick it," Leonardo admitted. "Not that I had anything to work with, but..."

"You'd have to be a magician," Michelangelo said. "The lock's melted in there. We're gonna have to find bolt cutters, but even that might not work. Where're your swords?"

"I think..." Leonardo shook his head. "God, this sounds stupid, but I think they started moving on their own and tried to kill me."

Michelangelo paused and looked at him. "Your swords?"

Leonardo nodded. "They-they kinda chopped up a moving corpse that looked like you."

To Leonardo's surprise, Michelangelo grinned.

"Then I did kill him. Good. Still moving? But he wasn't fighting or talking or anything?"

"No," Leonardo said, shaking his head once. "Just a body pulling itself along with one arm. You met it?"

"I think so," Michelangelo said. "I wasn't, um, I wasn't joking about the evil clone thing. I didn't--I really thought you were one of those things hunting for me."

Leonardo readjusted himself as Michelangelo sat back and checked his ankle. He hissed as his little brother touched it, and now Michelangelo's fingertips felt like ice as he prodded the torn muscles.

"Geez, that's bad," Michelangelo whispered. "How were you walking on that?"

"Slowly." Leonardo forced himself to think despite the pain. "But at least it's not a head injury."

"What, this?" Michelangelo said, pointing to the gash above his eye. "It's fine. I didn't hit my head. You--well, the thing that looked like you, it grazed me."

"With a katana?" Leonardo gasped.

"Yup. It's okay," Michelangelo assured him. "He didn't fight like you at all. He was more like a robot, all jerky and stiff."

"That's not what I saw before," Leonardo said. "The thing I saw was like a zombie, like a rotten body that started moving again. I don't think I saw the thing you killed."

"And I haven't seen any sword monsters, so I guess we're even," Michelangelo said. "Don't move. I know I saw first aid kits around here somewhere."

Leonardo grabbed Michelangelo's wrist and didn't let go, noticing how his hand shook slightly. He knew his brother was right. He shouldn't move at all, not unless they had to abandon this shop, but he didn't want to let go now that he'd found him again.

"It's okay," Michelangelo whispered, touching his arm. "I'm not leaving. You can even watch me from here, okay?"

Ashamed at his sudden weakness, Leonardo turned his head while he released him. Deliberately making enough noise to follow him by, Michelangelo pushed aside plush rabbits on the shelves, slid boxes of candy aside, and softly clattered through the shop. The flashlight was carefully played only over the shelves, never near the windows.

"Can these things open doors?" Leonardo asked. "I had one come through a glass door."

"Yeah, one broke a window to get at me," Michelangelo said. "But they don't seem able to work doorknobs. Even the ones that look like us can't do it."

"'Ones'? How many have you fought?"

"Three. You, me and Raph. I hear Don sometimes calling my name, but it's not our Don. His voice is all mean."

"Mean how?"

"Like he wants to kill me," Michelangelo answered. "They all do. Banging their weapons against the fences, yelling that they're gonna cave my head in, stuff like that."

The light fell on the stack of first aid kits with pictures of bunnies on the plastic cases. Michelangelo took a handful and dropped them beside Leonardo, popping each open one by one. Light bandages, small scissors and ointments tumbled out, and while Michelangelo worked, Leonardo picked up an empty case.

"Lakeside Amusement Park, Silent Hill," he read off the cover. "I saw that name in the town. Silent Hill. You ever heard of it?"

"I think so," Michelangelo murmured, distracted while he broke the cold pack and applied it to the swelling. "I remember a commercial for it, a little resort tucked away by a lake. It wasn't too good, just lame rabbit and dog costumes running around the park."

"I wonder why they brought us here," Leonardo said, speaking through gritted teeth. The cold pack felt like it would burn through his ankle. "Or were they trying to drive through?"

"And did they even know what was happening here?" Michelangelo sighed and leaned back, staring at the door again. "I know we've seen weird crap before, but this place takes the cake. Evil duplicates, sword monsters, crawling bodies..."

"Some guy with a huge triangle on his head."

"Some guy with...wait, what?" Michelangelo blinked and looked at him. "What triangle dude?"

"I don't know for sure that I saw it," Leonardo said. "I was swimming in and out of it. I saw a guy with a huge metal triangle pyramid thing on his head, and he was dragging this sword that was bigger than he was, and he was covered in blood."

"Uh-huh," Michelangelo said.

"And he was surrounded by rats."

"Rats."

"Lots of them. A swarm." Leonardo glanced up at him. "And then I passed out and woke up here."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I hallucinated it."

"Kind of," Michelangelo nodded. "But I believed you about the sword monster and the crawling zombie, so I think I should get partial credit."

Leonardo half-smiled. "Yeah, okay."

"Rats?"

"Hundreds of 'em."

"Swords and rats and homicidal dead versions of us." Michelangelo considered it as he applied a second cold pack. "When we get home, Don'll have a field day psychoanalyzing all of it."

Home. The thought made them both fall silent. Did they know that they'd been kidnapped? Was there any way to get a message out to them? Were their brothers on their trail, already driving here?

"I found the edge of town," Michelangelo said softly. "The road just stops and there's this huge cliff, like there was an earthquake. I don't know how far it goes."

Leonardo frowned. "Then how did they drive here?"

"Dunno." Michelangelo waited another few moments, then changed the cold pack again. His brother's ankle had already gone down, but he didn't want to wrap it tight yet. "And we'll never find out now, unless you were awake before we crashed?"

"I thought you were," Leonardo said. "I woke up and you were already gone. The two humans were dead."

"Really? They were still breathing when I left." Michelangelo grimaced. "Not to sound too stupid, but I actually thought of trying to get help."

Leonardo gave him a look. He didn't have to lecture. Michelangelo heard it in his head--captured in a strange town with monsters, on their own, was no time for heroics.

"I know, I know, stupid," Michelangelo said. "The crash rattled me, and the town was weird, and then I thought I saw you in the fog. By the time I realized that wasn't you, I got totally turned around."

"I wonder where the fog comes from," Leonardo said. "It isn't natural."

"I don't wanna think about it too hard," Michelangelo said. "We walk or climb out of here, follow the road until we hit a gas station and call home."

Leonardo hesitated, then nodded once. It was as good a plan as any, and he had no doubt they could pull it off as long as they stayed together.

"You want that ankle wrapped tight, right?" Michelangelo asked.

Leonardo didn't want to look. "Yeah, keep it from moving. The knee, too. I think it might be sprained."

"After you get some sleep," Michelangelo said. "First you, then me, and then we get out of here. Maybe find something to eat in here while we're at it."

"Don't," Leonardo said quickly. "I don't trust this place. Reminds me of that myth about hell."

"Huh? What myth?"

"About not eating anything while you're there, or else you can't leave."

Michelangelo grinned. "Way to stay positive. Besides, I've already busted into some of the candy in here." He laughed at Leonardo's look. "I'm starving, and you probably are, too. They're stale, not evil."

As Michelangelo retrieved several boxes of hard candy and chocolate, Leonardo gave an annoyed sigh. His little brother always had a habit of making his worries seem insignificant.

"We'll be sorry if this means we can't leave," he muttered around a chocolate almond bar.

"Look at it this way," Michelangelo said, crunching a handful of sour bites. "Stuck in an evil haunted town with candy is better than no candy just 'cause someone's way too serious."

"Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"...I'm glad I found you."

Michelangelo put his arm around Leonardo's shoulders.

"Get some sleep. We're walking out of here tomorrow."

Turning slightly, careful not to put pressure on his bound hands, Leonardo leaned close to him. Michelangelo's confidence boosted his own. He almost thought they might survive.

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

Leonardo woke with a start, grabbing instinctively for his brother. As his hand closed around Michelangelo's arm, he felt a flood of relief followed by sharp pain blossoming in his wrist. Hissing, he flinched and pulled his hands back.

"You okay?" Michelangelo asked, blinking away sleep. He already knew the answer, asking only to prompt a response as he reached around his brother.

During their rest, they had turned until Leonardo was in Michelangelo's arms. The position was comfortable and warm against the night air, but when Leonardo tried to grab him, he'd twisted his hand against the steel restraints.

"Looks like it was bad enough to wake you up this time," Michelangelo said, gently bringing Leonardo's hands back center of his body and making him lie still. "Damn...your wrists swelled up pretty good. I'll get another pain killer."

"Don't," Leonardo said too quickly with wide eyes, looking over his shoulder at him. "It's fine for now. Just...stay put."

"I'm not going anywhere," Michelangelo insisted, but he didn't move. "Guess you didn't sleep that good."

"Nightmares," Leonardo nodded, relaxing a little. "Of course. You too?"

"Yeah," Michelangelo said. "Pretty much what you'd expect. Running around here, can't find you, etc. You?"

"The same." Leonardo blinked and turned his head again, this time keeping his eyes self-consciously lowered. Then a thought struck him and he looked up at him. "Wait, what did you mean 'this time'?"

"You kept waking up all night," Michelangelo said. "I don't think you woke all the way up, though. It was just enough to make sure I was still there."

"Sorry." Leonardo winced. He must've woken his brother up along with him.

"No prob," Michelangelo said. "Got enough sleep. We'll get moving in a few minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

The minutes dragged. Both of them listened for any sound in the silence, knowing there were things in the fog, but they didn't even hear the wind. When Michelangelo shifted, the sound of his skin on the tile sounded like a shout. Finally they could put it off no longer. At first Michelangelo moved to help him, but Leonardo couldn't help a little shrug to slip out from under his hand. He was getting sick of his own weakness-if he could do this himself, he would-and he was relieved when Michelangelo instead went to check the shop for last supplies.

But standing up made Leonardo wonder if he'd be able to make the walk. He leaned against the shelves first, keeping Michelangelo in sight as he first got to one knee, then hauled himself up against the rack of plush rabbits. Michelangelo moved so fluidly that it hurt to watch him, not because Leonardo could barely stand but because he could barely move at all. There were creatures in the fog, walking swords and monstrous rats, and evil twins if Michelangelo was right. He was only going to be a burden-

"Cool," Michelangelo said, intent on something hidden under a pile of dolls. "Found a radio. Check it out, I wonder if-shit!"

Sudden static roared through the shop, and he twisted the knob so hard that it almost came off. In the silence, they waited to see if they'd been found out, to hear any tiny sound creeping outside. Long moments passed until he slowly relaxed, sure that nothing had heard it. Michelangelo sighed and moved away from it, taking the first aid packs with him.

"Take it with you," Leonardo said, stopping him.

"The radio?" Michelangelo asked. "Why? It's not like we can use it to call anyone and it's just loud static."

"We need information," Leonardo said. "Maybe there'll be a signal somewhere farther in town. Anything would good...even just a sound to tell us we're not alone."

Michelangelo picked up the radio and used a souvenir lanyard to tie it to his belt. He didn't hold out hope of hearing anything useful-he'd tried most of the radios he'd seen in town, but he didn't want to tell Leonardo that. His big brother looked desperate for a hint of the outside world, and he had a strange sense of disconnect as he gave Leonardo the pain killers. Since when did he look after Leonardo? The responsibility felt strange on him, as if any mishap now would be his fault.

Once he was sure Leonardo was ready go to, Michelangelo went to the door and listened for a moment, then slowly cracked it open. Fog slipped in and lay along the floor, making him shiver even though it was no colder than inside, and he backed away, postponing leaving at all.

"We're just going straight to the main road and walking out of here," he told himself, never looking away from the door as he put one arm around Leonardo.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Leonardo nodded once, biting back the pain as they left the shop. He favored his leg so much that he put almost no weight on it, leaning entirely against Michelangelo and telling himself that he'd pull away the moment he heard something nearby.

"You didn't meet any dogs, did you?" Michelangelo whispered.

Dogs? Leonardo cursed inwardly. Walking swords and evil clones made enough noise to hide by, but dogs would be on them almost as soon as they heard the first bark or snarl.

"No," he said. "Haven't seen any at all."

"I saw one," Michelangelo said. 

He didn't elaborate. There was no reason to describe the raw, coagulated mess of a creature he'd killed or the hard way it finally went down, beaten by nunchuck strikes that would have crushed a normal animal a dozen times over. If there were any nearby, the fight would be brutal and he doubted he could fight with Leonardo leaning heavily against his arm.

"But," Leonardo continued, "there probably aren't any nearby, at least not for awhile."

"Huh?" Michelangelo blinked. "How can you say for sure?"

"Haven't heard any howling," Leonardo said. "And there's nothing to eat here. They'd be farther in, scavenging on whatever's on the road."

Michelangelo grimaced as the thought of dogs gnawing on the humans in the van. Or rats, if Leonardo hadn't been delirious. He didn't want to believe him-a triangle headed dude with rats was kind of unbelievable-but it felt unfair to think Leonardo was hallucinating while asking him to believe Michelangelo had killed evil twins of themselves.

They fell silent as they left the row of shops and moved into the thick fog. Their footsteps, faint despite Leonardo's dragging injury, sounded like alarms broadcasting where they were, and while Leonardo listened for the click clack of steel walking towards them, Michelangelo expected mocking laughter and a sword or staff dragged across the rusted fence.

"Thought this was a resort town," Leonardo whispered softly. "What happened to it?"

Michelangelo didn't answer. Nothing could have left the park in such a decayed condition except for decades of abandonment. Water stains colored the carousel horses and wide patches of rust covered the poles so that Michelangelo was sure the horses would snap off. The roller coaster looked the same, and as they walked underneath, it creaked as if it would fall apart with the slightest touch.

"This fog ain't normal," Michelangelo breathed. "I can barely see the ferris wheel, and it's right in front of us."

Leonardo tilted his head, using his look as an excuse to rest against Michelangelo's shoulder. "You said there were commercials about this place? It's been abandoned for years."

"Don't think about it," Michelangelo said firmly. "Not 'till we're out of here."

"Mm."

As they passed the ferris wheel, Leonardo wondered how Michelangelo had known what it was. Fog covered all but the lowest bit of the wheel and the ticket booth. The dangling ferris car hung at an angle, and it probably would have broken off if there had been a breeze to push it.

The radio at Michelangelo's side started to hiss. Both of them froze, and Michelangelo grabbed the dial, trying to turn off the sound. It made no difference. The sound stayed the same, then pitched higher.

"Rip out the batteries," Leonardo said.

Michelangelo immediately turned the radio and crushed the battery casing with his palm, revealing an empty compartment. He breathed in sharply, then looked at Leonardo.

"It doesn't have any."

But Leonardo wasn't listening to him. He stared straight ahead, taking a step back and forcing Michelangelo with him. His weak ankle started to buckle as he placed weight on it, but Michelangelo grabbed him before he sank far.

"What is it?" Michelangelo whispered before he heard the tank—tank of clinking steel. The strange sound came quickly, like spidery footsteps, and he immediately remembered what Leonardo had described—swords moving together like a living creature.

Along with the steel steps, Michelangelo heard the soft whisper of water lapping against a dock. The lake was nearby and he didn't think steel could swim.

"We can't outrun it," Leonardo said.

"Don't say anything," Michelangelo whispered, kicking open a small gate so that it banged against its fence.

"It knows where we are," Leonardo said. "Staying quiet won't help now."

"I know that," Michelangelo said with a forced smile. "I mean don't say anything negative. We're gonna outrun it and we'll swim right out of here. Gotta stay positive."

"Positive...right. And God knows what's in that water," Leonardo murmured, but he didn't argue.

They reached the wooden boardwalk of the park's entrance before the thing found them, although they heard it close by, always just at the edge of hearing. The farther they moved, though, the fainter the static came from the radio, and rather than pitching it into the fog, Michelangelo left it on his belt as a kind of monster detector.

"We're almost there," Michelangelo said. "I don't think-"

Violent clanging cut him off, so loud that he ducked down as if it was right over his head, and he was barely aware of Leonardo grabbing his hand so tight that he thought the bones would break. Was the ferris wheel breaking to pieces? It sounded like the whole park was shaking with metallic shrieks. He looked wildly around, trying to stare into the gray fog and seeing nothing but dark silhouettes and sharp outlines. The asphalt and the edge of the curb were all he could make out.

"What is that?" he yelled, but he couldn't hear his own voice.

Inside—he had to get them somewhere safe. Michelangelo gripped Leonardo tightly and led him onto the sidewalk, hoping to find another shop they could duck into. He found a rotten wooden wall and put his hand on it, sliding along the rough surface until he found the door, but it was no use—the knob turned in loose circles and wouldn't open.

"Mikey!"

How did he hear his brother over the noise? But Michelangelo heard him and whirled, spotting the strange motion around the ground.

Thick grime, rust, coagulated blood-he couldn't tell what it was, but the disgusting stains slid along the concrete towards them, covering the sidewalk until it was black. Michelangelo backed up against the wall, brittle splinters dropping down his back, and then noticed the grime creeping along the wall and jerked away.

When had he let go of Leonardo?

Cold fear shot through him and he screamed his brother's name, but he couldn't hear himself. Leonardo was probably nearby, just out of arm's reach in the fog, with whatever was making that horrible noise. He put his hands out blindly and took a step, and his foot slipped on the slick, wet grime.

"Leo!"

The clanging stopped. His yell echoed through the park and then faded into silence. He held still, drawing in a shaky breath as he waited for a reply. There was nothing.

A thin line of static slowly came up from the radio, but it stayed faint. He hoped that meant there were no monsters nearby and risked calling out Leonardo's name again. Silence.

The grime was gone. So was the concrete, replaced by grass and damp soil. He whirled around and the wooden wall was gone. Instead he faced bricks and dusty windows. Leonardo was gone. The fog thinned so that he could see a little down the sidewalk and street. He was all alone again.

"What is going on?" he breathed, one hand over his face.

No wonder Leonardo had clung so tightly to him. Michelangelo hadn't believed him about passing out and waking up somewhere else. And now he was gone, crippled somewhere in this town.

Well, he would just have to hold tighter the next time he found him. And he would. Michelangelo steeled himself and walked around the edge of the building until he came a set of wide steps and double doors and a sign that read Midwich High School.

Perhaps both he and his brother had been transported together, which meant that maybe Leonardo was nearby. He went up the steps and inside, relieved at the lack of fog. It was such a relief to see farther than a few feet.

The school seemed quiet enough, if as decayed as the rest of the town. He let the door quietly close behind himself, and then crept quietly through the hall, glancing into each classroom. The desks were in their rows, the walls were bare...there was nothing to suggest the kind of grotesqueries that he'd seen outside.

At first he didn't understand why the radio started hissing. There were no monsters in sight. Only as he reached the end of the hall did he spot the streak of blood on the floor. It started at the last door and rounded the corner, and he followed it, both afraid and hoping that he'd find his brother. But it was so much blood, and it stretched down the next hall all the way to-

He gagged. Leonardo was there in the stairwell, curled on the floor, eyes staring at nothing. Standing over him, his shell facing Michelangelo, was a simulacrum of Donatello, recognizable only by the scrap of purple showing from under the blood and oil completely covering his pale skin. Michelangelo shouted, and Donatello glanced at him over his shoulder. A sick grin spread over his face.

"You should keep better watch over him," Donatello said, and his familiar voice twisted Michelangelo's stomach worse than anything else.

"Leave him alone!" Michelangelo yelled, rushing towards them.

Donatello drew his staff off his back and flipped it in one hand, revealing the sharp broken end. He smiled at Michelangelo as he raised it, then brought it down with a wet chop. Blood blossomed around its tip and spilled over Leonardo's throat.

With one fluid movement, Donatello yanked out the staff and smashed it against the door, slamming it shut just as Michelangelo ran into it. 

The door shuddered but held, and Michelangelo screamed ineffectually against the thick wood. Blood spread out from under the door, and he looked frantically around for another way. There was another stairwell down the far end of the hall. He had to spring to it, feeling sicker with each step, and though the run only took a moment, the seconds stretched out interminably. Up the stairs, down the hall, turn the corner and down the stairwell-he pulled his nunchucks and yelled as he came around...

Nothing. No Donatello. No Leonardo. Not even any blood.

He put one hand on the wall to steady himself.

"What...?" he breathed weakly, turning around and around again, as if the scene would reappear over his shoulder. "Where...? No. No, this is... What the hell is going on!"

Fake brothers...this town could make fake brothers. Had the dead Leonardo been real? Blood...there had been blood. Now it was gone. Was he losing his mind? That seemed too simple. He'd only left them for a moment.

He leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. He wasn't crying. He wasn't.

"I just want my brother back," he whispered. "I wanna go home."

Pain throbbed in his head in time with his heartbeat. He took a few breaths and stood up again, one hand against his left eye where the headache seem to center, and grasped the door handle. It swung open easily and he went to the front door, noticing the lack of blood on the floor.

His brother wasn't in the school. He told himself that over and over. When the radio began to crackle with static, he followed the sound. Perhaps it would take him to Donatello and his brother. Or it would take him to another nameless monster.

He held his nunchucks expectantly. Either way he'd get to kill something, and right now that made him feel a lot better.


	5. Chapter 5

A thick splat of black blood on the bricks-Michelangelo stepped over the broken shell of the creature's skull with tired resignation. How many of these had he killed? Each time it was the same-a slap of blood that was already coagulated, the human thing dropped to the pavement and its armless torso writhed like there were bugs underneath its skin. Crunching and rustling like wet dead leaves, the body wriggled, slowed, grew still.

Michelangelo rubbed the back of his neck, adding to the bloody stain. Nunchucks always made for messy kills with blood flying onto his face. Reddish black patches covered anything he touched. He was starting to feel as grimy as the rest of the town.

Even the fog felt dirty, as if the air itself was sordid and thick. Dust covered everything. All the windows were frosted gray and he wondered if the fog ever lifted. Would it rain? Did the sun ever come out? He peered up at the sky-the glare didn't even seem to come from the sun. The clouds didn't clear, either. No breeze blew through the streets or rustled the leaves. The whole town felt stuck in time.

And wearing him down. He felt like a windup doll with a key in his back, desperately needing another turn. He walked with his shoulders hunched more and more, head down, staring at the street. There was nothing else to look at. Even the buildings just beyond arm's reach were hidden. The town could disappear and he wouldn't know, walking in a straight line until he collapsed.

"Maybe we really did die," Michelangelo said to himself, looking back at the small space of pavement and the blinding wall of fog. "And this is hell."

"Brilliant deduction!"

Too late, the radio blared strong static in warning. Michelangelo snapped straight and raised his nunchucks at the same time. Donatello's voice, just as gentle as he remembered but for that thin needle of cruelty. His real brother would never cut them down for their mistakes, but this voice felt like an ice pick in his ear.

Had the fog cleared? Only a few convenient feet, enough to see the dark outline of his not-brother just ahead, his staff held over his shoulder as usual. The only difference was the jagged broken end, the point of it jutting out and still dripping.

"Cliche and predictable deduction, true, but I should probably be glad you thought of it at all," Donatello continued, leaning a few inches closer so his face became visible. He wore a bloody grin with missing teeth, and there was a touch of playfulness in his look. He reminded Michelangelo of a cat happily gutting a mouse as it squealed.

"After all," Donatello said, "you're 'baby bro', not exactly 'brainy bro'."

Too tired to bicker, Michelangelo matched his stance, ready to lash out with his forward hand. "Was Leonardo real?"

His voice was a growl. It didn't matter if this was hell or not. If Leonardo was alive, then it wasn't hell...even if this Donatello was a demon.

Smugly, Donatello leaned on his jagged staff and stared at him as if Michelangelo were a child that needed things explained in small words. "I'm real, aren't I?"

"Real enough to die," Michelangelo said.

"Ooh, clever," Donatello laughed, and he spun his staff around as he settled into a stance. "Before we start this, since you are my little baby bro', tell me...do you prefer this-"

He aimed his jagged tip at Michelangelo.

"-in your throat or your gut?"

Michelangelo turned to his side, making himself into a smaller target.

"No answer?" Donatello's grin widened, impossibly widened, almost splitting his face in half. Blood dribbled out the corners.

"Leo asked for it in the throat. So he wouldn't suffer much."

Michelangelo's answer was lost in a furious growl as he charged, ripping his nunchucks in a lightning flash arc toward Donatello's head. His not-brother blocked it with staff, shaking at the sheer power that made him stumble off balance. Donatello made a short jab at Michelangelo's throat that missed as Michelangelo ducked, then turned as hard as he could. His off-hand nunchuck came up with him, cracking into Donatello's jaw.

Teeth and bone exploded out of Donatello's face. Surprised by how much damage that had done, Michelangelo grimaced and stepped back, raising one hand as if to ward off the sight. Donatello paused, reeling unsteadily on one foot, then slowly regained his balance and stood straight, turning his head around. Half of his grin remained while the rest of his face hung in ragged black tatters and splintered bone.

Michelangelo gagged, fighting down his nausea. He didn't have the luxury of throwing up over the stench of old blood and rotten meat. The grinning corpse staggered towards him, swinging haphazardly with the staff. Michelangelo jumped out of reach and knelt, striking Donatello's knee.

The joint burst out of the skin in a spray of white bone shards. As Donatello toppled, Michelangelo crushed the other knee, then slammed the back of the skull. Donatello's face tore apart on the pavement and black ichor spilled out of his skull, glistening wet.

Something pounded in Michelangelo's head, a steady beating that drowned out any rational thought. The sound of rushing water filled his ears, and he gasped for breath, unable to keep his lungs filled. His head felt like it would explode-

He blinked.

Donatello's body was completely destroyed, pounded and crushed beyond recognition. The shell had been rotten through and now lay in a pulp, flung up in haphazard splatters around him. 

Michelangelo's nunchucks were covered in blood. His arms were cold, and he looked down at himself. Black blood coated his arms, his legs, had flown up onto his plastron... His fingers were curled tight around his nunchucks, so tight that his fingers had gone a whiter shade of green. Breathing hard, he stood and backed away, half afraid that the mangled mess would try to stand up.

It didn't. He listened for the slightest scuff of skin on the street. Nothing. No wind. No rustling leaves. No litter blowing by. No birds or insects. His own breath sounded horribly loud.

Backing away, circling around the body, he didn't look away until the fog closed around it, then kept walking, not bothering to put away his nunchucks. They hung limp at his sides, and he was vaguely aware that he looked like a monster himself. The blood cooled on his skin and he took off his mask, wiping away what he could.

Sleep. He didn't want to stop looking for Leonardo, but he didn't have any choice. In a few minutes, he was going to pass out. If he closed his eyes, he felt himself nodding off on his feet. He had to find a safe place to lie down and rest.

He followed the road. The stores and buildings along it didn't look promising. Doors lay twisted off their hinges or windows were smashed. Mouldering walls started to blur—he shook his head to try to clear it. Sleep was creeping up on him, and he no longer put it past this town to destroy parts of itself just so he wouldn't have a safe place to rest. A few times he called out Leonardo's name, but there was no reply.

Riverside Motel. The sign over the building looked like it would fall off with one good breeze and the walls looked like they were made of mildew, not mortar, but the second story windows weren't broken. Taking a deep breath, he left the road and walked up to it, nudging aside the door and walking in.

The motel was as decrepit as the rest of the town, made of rust and torn fabric. The plaster was peeling off and the paint lay on the floor in chips. One by one, he tried each door, sighing when all of them seemed to be locked. When one of them finally opened, it was only to take him outside to the pool.

Dragging himself past the green slime that passed for water, he found a set of stairs and went up, hoping nothing heard the steps creak. A row of doors greeted him.

Locked.

Locked.

Locked.

He began to think he'd have to kick one in, and that would leave him far more vulnerable. The last door...if nothing else, he'd break it open and collapse on the bed, and to hell with whatever tried to attack him. He reached the door and grabbed the handle.

To his surprise, it turned a little stiffly and swung open.

"Mikey?"

The whisper was thin, shallow. He almost didn't hear it. With a strange mix between a sigh and a sob, Michelangelo ran forward and fell down at the side of the bed, wrapping his arms around Leonardo's waist. At first his brother froze, then slowly relaxed when he was sure this wasn't a fake Michelangelo.

"Are you okay?" Leonardo whispered. "You're covered in blood."

"Ain't mine," Michelangelo mumbled, holding him tighter. "It's Don's."

"Don's?" Leonardo echoed. "The fake?"

"Yeah," Michelangelo said. "Got a little messy when I killed him. He..."

Michelangelo straightened, holding Leonardo by his shoulders as he looked at him. Leonardo didn't move, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. His little brother rarely looked this serious, even in the most dire situations.

"When we got separated," Michelangelo said, "when the fog came in and—crap!"

He went to the door and closed it, locking it and sliding in the bolt before taking the only chair and shoving it up under the door knob. He didn't think the rotten wood to hold anything out for long, but having it there made him feel better.

Sliding his nunchucks back into his belt, he sat down beside Leonardo and put his arms around him. His brother didn't react, sitting still like a doll.

"What happened to you?" he continued. "In the school?"

"School?" Leonardo shook his head. "There's a school here? I lost you and I tried to follow you, and I almost fell into the lake."

"Then...you were never inside the school?" Michelangelo asked. "You didn't see Donatello?"

"No, why?" Leonardo asked.

Michelangelo smiled and leaned heavily on his brother, closing his eyes. "Nothing. Nothing important."

They sat quietly for several seconds. Michelangelo glanced at Leonardo's hands, still locked inside the FoH's melted restraints, bruised and scabbed over. Had Leonardo been forced to fight? He wondered how he'd done that on a busted ankle as well. They needed to get those restraints off, but he couldn't do that with nunchucks and there was nothing to cut with.

"Seen your swords again?" he asked.

Leonardo shook his head. "I hear them sometimes. Or the rats. But never up close. They're always on the edges, usually behind me."

Michelangelo stared at the far wall, blank except for mottled waterstains. This might have been the first time Leonardo could rest all day. He winced. His big brother hated running away from things. He was lucky Leonardo hadn't turned and tried to fight. He looked at Leonardo. Half-dead stare, too quiet, so tense he felt like stone...

"I'm not letting go of you this time," he said. "We'll get some sleep—"

"Can't," Leonardo said, shaking his head too fast. "The fog'll—"

"It's out there," Michelangelo said over him. "Not in here. The place has rules. I'm getting that, now."

"Rules?" Leonardo tried to process that and obviously failed. "No, this isn't...it's just wearing us down. That's it."

"No," Michelangelo said softly. His brother was perhaps more exhausted than he was, walking wounded. Otherwise he was sure Leonardo would have realized it, too. "The things here are personal. Fake versions of us, your swords going nuts, the rat things...doesn't take a genius to analyze that."

Leonardo didn't argue. "We're together. It doesn't work."

"Does too," Michelangelo said around a weary smile. "Hurts that much more when it splits us up."

Leonardo looked down, drawing into himself. Michelangelo closed his eyes. Shouldn't have said that probably.

"It won't happen again," Michelangelo said. "I promise. We'll wake up, we'll head down to the lake, and get out of town that way."

"How?" Leonardo asked. "Swim across?"

"If we have to," Michelangelo said. "Road's out, so there's no walking across. But it's a resort, right? There should be boats."

"Some resort," Leonardo mumbled.

Michelangelo looked over his shoulder at the bed. For all the damage to the motel, the bed looked passable. Dingy, but no mold. Rusty, but nothing dangerous.

He had to help Leonardo lie down, setting his ankle gently on the mattress. He had no doubt it was broken now. If it hadn't been before, too much walking had finished the fracture. Placing his hand on his brother's throat, he winced when he felt the fever flush across his skin. Leonardo was going downhill fast. He needed to get him home soon, or else the town wouldn't have to kill him.

But there was no use worrying about it now. They both had to sleep. He lay down next to Leonardo and put his arm over his side, careful not to touch his arms. If anything tried to take his brother away, he'd feel it this time.

As he closed his eyes, he heard the scuff of something moving outside, past the hotel and in the road. It lingered for a moment, going quiet, then started down the road again until he no longer heard it. There was no way of knowing what it was. He wasn't about to go to the window to find out. Unless he heard something coming down the hallway, he didn't care. Let the things outside wander around aimlessly as long as they didn't come inside or up here.

In a few hours, he and his brother would go downstairs and leave the town. No matter what.


	6. Chapter 6

Michelangelo listened at the door for nearly five full minutes, straining to hear the tiniest scuff or rustle. When there was nothing, he unlocked the door and turned the handle, pulling the door open an inch. Finally satisfied, he drew it the rest of the way and looked down the long railing and the courtyard, then out to the road. The town was darker now, not night but late evening perhaps, but he didn't need to see to hear the absolute lack of sound. Nothing. For now.

"We're just gonna make a run for the lake," Michelangelo said softly, staring at the edge of the nearest building visible through the dense fog. "Then follow the water 'till we hit the boats. Then we just sail away."

His big brother, still seated on the bed, tilted his neck to work out the kink from sleeping on his back. Though sore, he looked up with clear eyes. Sleep had helped the fever go down, but the real boost to his strength was Michelangelo with him, planning a way out.

"You don't want to follow the waterline all the way around?" Leonardo asked.

"That's plan B," Michelangelo said. "If we don't find anything that floats."

"And plan C?" Leonardo asked, half smiling.

"We swim."

Leonardo blinked. He hadn't expected an answer to his teasing, but it seemed like Michelangelo had spent time planning their escape. It didn't make him stop worrying, but seeing his little brother put away his playful antics and truly get serious made him feel like they might actually get away from the town.

"Ready?" Michelangelo asked, turning to him.

"Yeah." Taking a deep breath, Leonardo stood up and limped a few steps until he could lean on his brother. He winced at how slow he was. Michelangelo couldn't even help beyond giving him a shoulder to rest against. The metal restraints on his wrists would have been easy to slice through, but his swords were busy killing everything in sight.

"Try not to worry too much," Michelangelo assured him. "We'll hear anything coming way before it gets to us."

"Comforting thought," Leonardo said.

Step by laborious step, they moved down the stairs to the cracked sidewalk, crossing the dead ground and dry grass. At the wire fence, they paused as Michelangelo listened again.

"I don't hear anything," he grumbled. "Including anything like waves or...what do lakes sound like? Seagulls?"

"You won't hear it," Leonardo said. "There's no wind, so there's no waves."

"Then how do we find it?" Michelangelo said. He laughed ruefully at himself. "Geez, I'm lame. How the hell do you lose a lake?"

"Don't beat yourself up," Leonardo smiled. "I was all over this part of town yesterday. That's the only reason I know where it is. Just go left and then right. I think there are docks."

"Straight?" Michelangelo said. "Okay...here we go."

Heading straight down the street, even the store fronts were hard to make out. Had the fog turned black? Michelangelo started to wonder if they were even moving. The cracks in the street were the only way to tell they were making any progress. Looking up at the sky, he mentally kicked himself for thinking he might hear seagulls. There wasn't a bird in the sky. Or a sun. Just a dismal shadow that grew thicker. He wished he had a flashlight.

Even leaning on Michelangelo's offered arm, after a only a minute, Leonardo wished they could stop. Favoring his ankle could only go so far. It was probably broken, and if their positions had been reversed, he would have insisted on carrying his brother piggyback.

Not that Michelangelo would have let him. And he'd as soon as break both legs as be carried himself.

Didn't make the walking any easier.

At one of the corners of the streets, Leonardo came to a stop, which made Michelangelo stop.

"Here," Leonardo said softly. "Now we go right."

"Really?" Michelangelo turned and started heading that way, but he frowned as they walked. "I don't know how you can tell what's around here."

"Police station," Leonardo said, nodding at the building across from them. "I remember the dock was two streets down."

"Yeah, but the fog makes everything look alike," Michelangelo said.

"I had a close look," Leonardo said. "It was unlocked, and I heard my swords moving around, so I ducked inside."

Nausea welled up in Michelangelo's stomach. How close had he come to losing Leonardo during those cat and mouse games? He dreaded the thought of something finding them right now, and here he was to keep his brother safe. Imagining Leonardo wandering out here alone...

"You still with me?" Michelangelo asked, giving him a nudge. "You're slowing down. If you want, I could carry-"

"Like hell," Leonardo grumbled. "I'm fine."

Michelangelo grinned, about to tease his sibling until he agreed to be carried, when Leonardo halted. He stopped as well. He knew that look and listened, holding his breath.

A high pitched tang of metal tapping metal. The scrape of steel on pavement.

"Where is it?" Michelangelo whispered.

"Other side of the river," Leonardo said. "I think."

They started moving again, faster now, and Michelangelo forced himself to keep up the pace no matter how hard it was to hear his brother forcing back each groan of pain. Slowing down out of misguided kindness would only get them killed, and his brother made no complaint.

One crossroad passed by...then another. By the third street, the sound behind them was loud enough to set their teeth on edge, scraping like someone dragging a sword behind them. Leonardo had a habit of doing that when he wanted to intimidate the streetpunks who couldn't see him in the darkness of a New York alley. To have it used on them was an insult.

"Maybe we should hide until it wanders off," Michelangelo said, looking around. The only useful hiding spot was the huge building they passed, a gray mass of steel and bricks. "How about here?"

"It's a prison," Leonardo murmured, not even lifting his head.

"A prison?" Michelangelo gave it another look. The heavy duty security doors made it obvious now that he knew what it was, but he wondered why a resort town had a prison smack in the middle and so close to a school. "Yeah, okay. Not in there. Who knows what's in there."

"We're almost to the docks," Leonardo said. "We're almost there."

That they could be so close and still not see anything reminded Michelangelo a little of home. For his entire life, he'd been used to living in New York's underground, getting by on the distant subway lights or the faint moonlight from the open gutters trickling rain. So he only realized that they were in similar darkness when they came upon a truck tilted into an open ditch in the road, its headlights shining into the ground. Michelangelo blinked as his eyes adjusted.

"Almost as dark as home," he said. "I'm sure that isn't an accident."

"Why're its lights on?" Leonardo wondered. "Are there other people here?"

"Who knows?" Michelangelo said. "Wouldn't have seen them if there were. Or maybe they thought we were the freaks."

A plank of wood had been set over the ditch. Michelangelo went first to make sure it would take their weight, and Leonardo followed after. As he stepped on the other side, the tik-tak of steel behind them grew so strong that he turned and saw his swords, rusted and blackened with blood, the leather of their hilts tangled and wrapped around each other. He kicked the plank aside and stared at his decayed katana, and as they stood still for a moment, it felt like they were looking back.

Then the crumbling shell of the truck door flew from behind him, nearly taking off his head, and slammed into the swords. Leonardo stood in shock, then glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Michelangelo grinned and hurried around the truck to him.

"That should hold 'em," Michelangelo said. "Bet we can get them untangled now."

Leonardo met his eyes and, after a moment, shook his head. "Leave them."

Michelangelo paused. "Are you sure? We could probably use them to get those cuffs off."

"No," Leonardo said. "Look at them. They're rusted through. If we tried to use them, they'd break in half."

Michelangelo still hesitated. Leonardo had never neglected his swords or let them go one day without careful polishing or sharpening. "You wanna leave 'em here? In this town?"

Turning his back on the swords, Leonardo nodded. "I don't need them to fight. I'll steal another pair when we get home."

"Okay," Michelangelo said, gently taking his arm. "Let's get out of here then."

The docks were not much farther. They found the waterline easily and followed it to the wooden piers that jutted into the dark green lake. The planks of wood were shrunk and warped with gaping holes in the middle, and Michelangelo left his side to examine the first boat they came to. A second later he was back.

"Didn't start," Michelangelo explained. "Lemme see if there's a rowboat."

Leonardo followed after him, picking his way over the more sturdy boards, leaning on one of the wooden posts supporting the piers. He saw four or five boats tied up, and his brother went over the side of one to another. If they didn't find one, he'd suggest taking the smallest and use some of the broken planks as makeshift oars.

He heard the rats before he saw them. Scratching, squeaking, sounding like spiders walking on violins-he scanned the pitiful amount of ground that he could see and still-nothing. Giving up, he limped down the line of boats and found his brother in the last one, hefting the oars into position. Michelangelo set one down and raised his hand, carefully helping Leonardo step down.

Not waiting for his brother, Leonardo turned and grabbed the mooring line in both hands, lifting the heavy rope off the post. Steel on pavement came after them-not as small as his swords but louder, like a massive weight. He grit his teeth and pressed his metal cuffs against the post, gasping in pain as he pushed as hard as he could.

The rowboat knocked against the boats beside them as it slowly floated forward. Michelangelo used the oars to push away further, and they cleared the dock just as the creature came into view.

"Whoa," Michelangelo breathed.

In the black fog, the creature was a light spot of gray with a bloody knife as tall as it was. Its strange heavy helmet cast a long shadow over them that slipped away as Michelangelo set the oars in the water. Rats spilled over the pier and splashed as they sank. Leonardo thought that maybe the thing could wade out into the water after them, but it didn't move, watching them slip out of its grip like a grim sentinel.

"That's what almost got you?" Michelangelo whispered.

"Yeah..." Leonardo breathed out.

It raised its knife, and for one horrible moment Michelangelo thought it would fling the blade straight at them. How the hell could it be strong enough to lift that? He reached forward and grabbed Leonardo's hand, about to take them both over the side. Then the creature let the knife fall, slashing the pier in half. Both of them flinched as they felt the force of the hit even from afar.

"Damn..." Michelangelo said. "I don't think either of us could take that."

They watched it until the fog swallowed it, and then they were alone on the lake, a small bubble in the midst of a thick black cloud. A moment passed. There was no sound but the water lapping against the boat. And then Michelangelo breathed out and sat back.

"Oh man," he sighed. "We did it. "We're-"

"Don't-" Leonardo cut him off. "Don't jinx it."

Michelangelo smiled. "Yeah. Okay. We'll wait 'till we're sure."

Hefting the oars, he started rowing them deeper into the fog. Leonardo turned and quietly listened to the oars touching the water. How easy it was to sit back and let his little brother do the work. They were leaving, and he no longer had to do anything.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"Huh?" Michelangelo said. "For what?"

Leonardo half-smiled. "Finding me."

Pride welled up in Michelangelo's heart. Was the fog growing lighter? He thought it was. The sun was pale and tiny, but at least he could tell where it was now.

Long minutes passed. Neither of them spoke. It was enough to be on their way. If they didn't find the road at first, they would simply stay in the boat and drift along, safely out of the reach of anything in that town.

"Hope I'm not going in circles," Michelangelo murmured.

"You're not," Leonardo said.

"You're just saying that."

Leonardo shook his head. "Listen."

Michelangelo paused in his rowing and raised his head. In the distance, he heard a faint high-pitched cry. A bird. Smiling broadly, he rows towards the sound even harder.

They jolted as the boat ran aground. Michelangelo turned around and found the fog turning to wisps between pine trees and grass, real grass and green growing things. He heard crickets chirping and the wind rustling the leaves like chimes. No doubt in his mind now that they were safe, he stepped out of the boat and pulled it higher up on the sand, then helped Leonardo out with him.

"Even the air feels better," Leonardo said.

"Never thought I'd be so glad to hear a cicada," Michelangelo said.

The way through the forest was slow going but short. By keeping right, they came to the interstate within only a few hundred feet, and the sign by the side welcomed travelers to Silent Hill.

They walked on the shoulder. The sun dipped under the trees and the stars came out, but after sharing a look, neither of them wanted to stop walking. No one would notice them, and the bushes on the side of the road were tall enough that they felt they could hide if they suddenly had to.

When the headlights came into view, they only shifted slightly to the side. The glow was so dim they could see the red brakelights in the back, so there was no way humans would notice them. They didn't even lift their heads as it passed by, which is why they both froze as the van slammed on its breaks and a familiar voice yelled from the driver's seat.

"Mikey! Leo!"

The van pulled a tight u-turn and stopped in front of them, idling as Raphael and Donatello both ran out. Michelangelo grinned and exchanged "where the hell have you been"s with Raphael while Donatello hugged Leonardo and then looked him over, immediately letting him lean on his arm to the back of the van. Throwing the doors wide made the van's floor into a convenient seat with the flickering electric light overhead.

"Damn," Michelangelo said, "that's a sight for sore eyes. Real light."

"What're you talking about?" Raphael grinned, still with his arm around Michelangelo's shoulder as if he was afraid he'd disappear. "Friends of Humanity took you to a resort. You can't tell me you didn't ride the roller coaster."

"Oh, it was a roller coaster all right," Michelangelo grinned. "There was this-no, wait. Let's get going. I'll tell you on the way home."

"Take shotgun," Donatello said, helping Leonardo up into one of the van's back seats.

For some reason, Michelangelo felt a spike of fear as he slammed the rear doors and locked them. The split second that his brothers were out of sight felt like he was inviting that wailing air raid siren and the creeping fog. He ran around the side and jumped in, looking over the seat and relaxing when he saw Donatello sitting beside Leonardo and Raphael settling into the driver's side.

"You okay?" Raphael asked as he put on his seat belt. "You look like you seen a ghost."

Smiling, Michelangelo shook his head and closed the door. He put on his seat belt, leaned back on the head rest, and felt at ease as the inside light went out and the stars spread over the headlights. Home. They were going home. His brothers' presence all around him felt like a shield between him and the town.

"Talk to me," Donatello said, snapping a cold pack and holding it against Leonardo's ankle with bandages. "How long've you been walking on this?"

"Couple days," Leonardo admitted, hissing as Donatello touched the hot swelling. "Didn't have a choice."

"And this..." Donatello gingerly put his hands under the metal restraints, studying the lock. "Geez, looks like it's melted. I wish I had my gear here. It'll have to wait 'till we get home."

"It's fine," Leonardo shrugged. "It's probably keeping anything broken from moving."

Donatello shook his head. "I wish we had your swords, but I guess those got lost." He noticed the longing look but didn't comment on it, distracted when his hand brushed his face. "Mikey, does he have a fever, too?"

"It's not that bad," Leonardo started, leaning back from his hand.

His smile fading, Michelangelo craned his head so he could see him. "Yeah, he's sick. Sorry, bro'...I should've carried you no matter what you said."

Leonardo laughed once despite his pride. "Don't. You were carrying me, kind of."

"Mikey actually did something right?" Raphael said in mock amazement and dodging Michelangelo's swipe.

"Yeah," Leonardo said, looking at his little brother. "He's the one who got us out. I...I'd all but given up."

Raphael's smile faded to match Michelangelo's look. "It was bad?" he asked over his shoulder.

Leonardo nodded. "But it's all right now. It's just...this time he saved me."

About to agree that any of them would feel weird being rescued by Michelangelo, Raphael fell silent as they all heard a soft click. Leonardo looked down as the restraints slipped open and clattered to the floor, crumbling upon impact.


End file.
